


Domestic Life

by The_Forgotten_Nobody



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: But Patrick loves him, David's a mess, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moving In Together, Spoilers for Season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 17:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19795696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Forgotten_Nobody/pseuds/The_Forgotten_Nobody
Summary: David knows he can be a lot, and that’s even after he’s mellowed from living in Schitt’s Creek for so long.  He gets anxious, he can’t stand to see things out of his carefully planned place, and he often forgets that if he wants something to be done, he has to at least try to do it himself first, or help out.  It’s just…it’s hard.  It feels like he’s going against his basic instincts, being a regular person.  Maybe it’s genetic.  He is his mom’s son after all.  But then again, she and Dad have survived together and if they can do it, then surely he can with Patrick.  He just has to work at it, prove to Patrick that he’s not making a mistake.  And if that means getting his hands dirty…he’ll buy gloves.





	Domestic Life

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born from me realising that despite getting engaged, I hadn’t actually seen David and Patrick move in together. I wondered if I had just missed a scene or something but I don’t think I have, and so, I decided I need to make this fic.

Sunday mornings are David’s favourite. The shop opens late that day, meaning both he and Patrick can spend a few lazy hours in bed together, and David treasures that time. Today is no different, and David languishes beside his fiance, absently trailing his fingertips across Patrick’s bare chest. Patrick’s own fingers are lightly carding through his hair, and that combined with the dim light streaming through the curtains, makes David feel the most settled he has in a while. So much so, that he has enough courage to broach a subject that’s been whirring around his mind recently.

“Patrick?”

“Mm?” Patrick’s fingers briefly stop their movements, and David gently nudges his head to prompt them to continue before he does so himself.

“We’re going to be husbands.”

“Oh, are we? I’d almost forgotten.” Patrick’s frankly rude words are softened by the grin David can hear in his voice, and the kiss he places upon David’s head.

“Yes so, um. Husbands, they traditionally live together.”

“That is true,” Patrick concedes calmly.

“So,” David pushes, because it’s clear Patrick is going to make David work for this, as he typically does, “We should probably think about doing that, shouldn’t we?”

“Oh, I don’t know David. It’s just that I haven’t had this place for that long and I know it doesn’t meet your high standards…”

“Excuse me, I’ll have you know that this place, under my guidance has actually become…cosy, and that is not a word I use lightly.”

“Wow, high praise indeed.” Patrick’s grinning, that smug, but still soft, little grin he reserves just for David and that’s how David knows this is something Patrick’s been thinking about too. 

“You should have seen that motel room before I moved in and improved things.”

“I imagine it was horrific, no insult to Steve intended.”

“Oh, she knows how awful it was,” David says dismissively. “So, what do you think?”

“Think?”

“About me moving in here with you!” David lightly slaps Patrick’s chest, causing the other man to laugh. “Unless…unless you still don’t want to? Which, you know, is fine. I suppose we could hold off the wedding while we, you know, wait and we could perhaps look for somewhere different, maybe a place with a jacuzzi, or we could be some new age husbands who don’t live in-”

Let it be known, David’s favourite way of being shut up is getting kissed by Patrick Brewer. He teases David with a brush of teeth before pulling back and regarding him with soft eyes.

“As long as you’re okay with it, I’d love for you to move in with me, David.”

David rests his palms on Patrick, his head atop them, so he can look into Patrick’s eyes. With a little smile, he says, “We’d need to change a few things, to accommodate me, but I think we’d make it work.”

Shifting up a little so he can punctuate each word with a peck, Patrick replies, “So. Do. I.”

* * *

“Oh my God, David!” Alexis squeals. “Took you guys long enough,” she says, slapping his arm playfully.

“Um, excuse you, I don’t see you and Ted moving in any time soon.”

“Uh, yeah, but _we’re_ not fiancés.” 

“Haven’t you been engaged to him twice now already?”

“That was different and we are not talking about me now,” Alexis says firmly, pout in place. She quickly brightens though, adding, “This is so exciting! Have you ever even lived with someone before, excluding your family?”

“I spent some time with Horatio,” David offers, after wracking his brain.

“Wasn’t he the guy who flew off to Hawaii the day you brought your stuff over? And then broke up with you the day he came back because you didn’t water his plants?”

“Okay, so that’s maybe not the best example,” David grouches. 

“I’m just saying, it’s going to be different, take it from someone who has shared a room with you for years now.”

“I know it’s going to be different Alexis. I’ll actually live with someone who knows how to clean up after themselves.”

“Um, that’s really rude and I’m just trying to warn you that you might be expected to do a little more around the house. I want this to work for you, David. It’s like, I’ve never even seen you clean a bathroom.”

“That’s because bathrooms are home to a plethora of germs and you know I have a sensitive immune system,” David replies, disgust in his voice. “I’d prefer it if you were just happy for me and didn’t try to criticise me.”

“I _am_ happy for you David, I’m just giving a little sisterly advice. You’re not going to just be a visitor there anymore, it’s going to be _your_ home too, a home you’ll have to maintain. It’s like, when I go to Ted’s I _always_ make sure to put my dish in the dishwasher.”

“Wow, you must be really proud of yourself.”

“Ugh, this why I’m not nice to you. Just, think about it, okay?”

“Fine, whatever, fine. Now, let’s talk about something else. What are you packing for the Galapagos?”

Thankfully, talk about her impending trip is enough to end _that_ delightful conversation, but it continues to distract him throughout the rest of their lunch. 

* * *

Now, the thing with David is that, when something is on his mind, it’s _really_ on his mind. Bringing up the conversation about moving in had been on such subject, and now it has morphed to actually moving in with Patrick, which is to be expected he supposes, but what he could really do without is the tightening sensation he gets in his chest along with it. 

Don’t get him wrong, he really does want to move in with Patrick. He wants to be able to go to sleep, knowing for certain that Patrick will be there beside him. He wants to not have to worry about leaving because it’s getting late, or because he might have overstayed his welcome. He wants a place to call ‘ours’. 

But Alex, as she likes to do, has got into his head. It really was true that apart from his sister, David’s never lived in such small confines with another person before. The closest thing he has is Tanya, a sweet lady who didn’t speak much English but would go above her job requirements to make sure he had fresh pastries waiting for him in the morning from the cute little café down the street he couldn’t be caught dead walking into himself. And if he’s being honest, perhaps part of the reason she lasted so long was _because_ their conversation was so limited, and you know, he was her boss so could fire her if she upset him.

David knows he can be a lot, and that’s even after he’s mellowed from living in Schitt’s Creek for so long. He gets anxious, he can’t stand to see things out of his carefully planned place, and he often forgets that if he wants something to be done, he has to at least _try_ to do it himself first, or help out. It’s just…it’s hard. It feels like he’s going against his basic instincts, being a regular person. Maybe it’s genetic. He is his mom’s son after all. But then again, she and Dad have survived together and if they can do it, then surely he can with Patrick. He just has to work at it, prove to Patrick that he’s not making a mistake. And if that means getting his hands dirty…he’ll buy gloves.

* * *

It doesn’t start off well. 

“Huh. I didn’t know those motel closets could hold that many clothes.”

David’s face pulls into a tight grimace. In front of them are all the boxes David has brought with him and three of them are labelled clothes. He knows Patrick wouldn’t ask him to give them up, he understands that his clothes are pretty much all he has from his previous life, but he can also tell from those adorable, heart-wrenching pulls at the corner of his eyes that he’s calculating just how David’s clothes are going to all be able to mingle with his own.

David had tried to subtly persuade Patrick to get a bigger set of drawers for this very reason but, well, it’s too late now.

Alexis’ words come back to him, and he says, with as much casualness as he can muster, “Well, I suppose it _is_ time I did a spring clean out. New house, new wardrobe, isn’t that the phrase?”

“David Rose, is that you _compromising_?” Patrick stands in front of him, tugging David’s hands out from where they’re trapped under his armpits. “For _me_?”

“So, it was this thing I’m trying but if you’re going to be like that about it and make me say it out loud then we can just forget I said anything…” He weakly attempts to tug his hands out of Patrick’s but relents when Patrick treats him with a sincere smile.

“We’re not forgetting that, and I’m flattered, really. Look, how about we see how it goes putting everything together and if we _both_ have to make some sacrifices, then we’ll deal with it. Sound good?”

“You haven’t even seen my cosmetics yet,” David whispers. “I had some under my bed.”

“There’s space under mine if we need it. C’mon, let’s just get unpacking.” He softly claps David on the arm and then bends down to open the first box. David is momentarily distracted by the sight of Patrick’s pert, very admirable, ass until said object of David’s ever-lasting affection twists his head and says, “Later, if we get all this sorted today.”

That’s all the encouragement David needs.

* * *

Sunday mornings aside, David is not a morning person. He’s never been a morning person. It’s like there’s a gene in him which prevents him from being a functioning, nice person until he has a shot of caffeine running through his blood. Honestly, it’s incredibly inconvenient but also something he can normally deal with alone. Usually, when David has stayed over in the past, it’s been when he hasn’t had to open the shop himself and so Patrick will be gone while David mopes until he gathers the strength to make himself a cup of coffee. Living together, however, means that Patrick seeing morning David is unavoidable and he knows it’s not going to be cute how he grumbles when expected to leave the bed. It’s not going to be cute how he will hide his head under the pillow while his alarm goes off for the fourth time, the final time it can go off before David will officially be late opening up. It especially won’t be cute because David knows Patrick’s tired from recruiting people to handle the shop so they won’t have to deal with these early mornings alone.

It’s for this reason that instead of getting a good night’s sleep and feeling rested enough to get up at the first alarm, David worries all night long about his multitude of alarm clocks that by the time the alarm is meant to go off, he catches it a minute early, preventing it from sounding at all. With potentially bloodshot eyes (oh, who is he kidding, _definitely_ bloodshot eyes), he checks his movements haven’t woken Patrick. He freezes when his fiancé stirs, but then relaxes as Patrick does. As gingerly as he can manage, David crawls out of bed and into the bathroom, where he braces himself to look at his reflection.

David’s teeth clench. He looks just about as a good as he did that night he spent with Natalia and her pet cobra, who apparently slept in the same bed as her and whoever was unfortunate enough to fall for her blood red lips and sharp tongue. Making sure to keep quiet, David does the best he can with the situation, employing the use of all his skin creams and foundation, until he’s as ready as he can be. He still has to slide his sunglasses on though, he’s not a miracle worker.

He’s about to leave when the sight of the mug by the sink makes him pause. Sometimes, when Patrick gets up before David, he’ll make David the coffee he needs to be his best self. So far, it’s been rare for David to be awake early enough to do the same for Patrick but now that he’s here permanently, he has the chance to. He doesn’t have long now, after having to increase the length of his morning routine to deal with his face, and so David hurries to make Patrick’s tea. He chooses the standard (not boring, because the last time David called it boring, he learnt the hard way what a bad choice of word that was) breakfast tea Patrick favours, wincing at the noise the kettle makes despite how he tries to shield it with his jumper, adds the obligatory two teaspoons of sugar, and rushes out. 

* * *

A little after the lunch rush, the bell above the door jingles and David glances up from his magazine, quickly hiding it when he sees it’s Patrick.

“I saw that,” Patrick says, and David notices that he’s got a bag in his hand, a bag that David recognises as being from Alice’s bakery in Elmdale. His stomach grumbles, despite the fact he managed to get a short break to eat his lunch earlier. 

“Is that for me?” David asks once Patrick has reached the counter.

“What, this chocolate fudge cupcake with orange frosting? I was thinking of having it myself, or maybe giving it to Stevie when I stopped by the motel later-”

“Okay, you know that is my favourite and you’re being very rude teasing me like this.” David makes grabby hands at the bag and Patrick relents, handing it over. The noise David makes at the first bite might be more than a little obscene, if the way Patrick’s cheeks pinken is any indication, but David can’t help it. Chocolate is a weakness of his no celebrity fad diet can combat. 

“You still have your sunglasses on,” Patrick comments, after David has finished his cupcake.

“Let’s just say this,” he waves a hand in front of his face, “is not suitable for polite company and I’d rather not scare off potential customers.”

“Oh, did you not sleep well?” Patrick’s frowning now, and David can see he’s going through all the reasons David might not have slept well, and how they might relate to him, or the apartment, and no, no, no, this exactly what he wants to avoid. 

“I, uh,” he tries to come up with something quickly. “I poked myself in the eye! Badly, so it’s red. And puffy. And embarrassing, so if we could keep this between the two of us I would be very grateful.”

“That sounds painful, want me to take a look?” Patrick asks, leaning forward and David recoils, because as much as his eyes _are_ red and puffy, it’ll be obvious that it’s from tiredness. So, although he’d normally love to have Patrick giving him his full, undivided attention looking into his eyes, he paws at Patrick’s hands so they don’t come any closer.

“No, I really, really don’t. I love you, but I don’t love this conversation and the sooner we can pretend this is a normal, average look for me, the better.”

“Alright, fine,” Patrick huffs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Thank you, by the way, for the tea this morning. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“Well, you know, I _am_ a thoughtful person.”

“That you are. I have a few more errands to run, so I need to head off, but I’ll see you at home. Am I at least allowed to give you a kiss?”

The word home still sends a thrill of glee running through him. “I _suppose_ ,” David replies, unable to hold back a grin, and Patrick moves around the counter so he can cradle David’s face and press a soft kiss against his lips. 

“By the way David, if you ever want to leave a tea for me in the morning, which I would very much appreciate, the sugar is on the left of the kettle, in a jar.”

Patrick places one last peck on his lips, before he darts out with a wave, leaving David blinking.

They really need to organise the kitchen better.

* * *

“David, love.” David feels someone gently nudge his shoulder and he tries to ignore it and bury further under the covers. He only starts to wake up more when his hand fails to meet the warm skin of his fiancé.

“Mm, Patrick?” David slurs, cracking one eye open to see Patrick peering down at him, a small smile on his face.

“Sorry to wake you, I just wanted to remind you that we have that delivery coming so you need to stay in until it arrives.”

“Delivery?”

“The new chest of drawers, remember?”

Oh right, the new chest of drawers they’d had to buy because even with compromises, there still wasn’t quite enough room for both of their belongings. Patrick had said it was fine, because it was apparently old anyway, but David still felt a little bad about it.

“Okay, I’ll be here.”

“Thanks, David, I’ll see you later.” A kiss is pressed to David’s cheek and with that, Patrick’s gone. 

David considers trying to go back to sleep, but with this new knowledge, he now doesn’t want to risk missing the delivery man. This is part of co-habitation, being awake for the delivery man because your spouse can’t be there. Annoyingly, though, it’s almost the afternoon by the time Stan the delivery man arrives, meaning David could have slept in after all and so he’s more than a little grouchy when he stops the man from leaving.

“This looks awfully small to be a chest of drawers, don’t you think?”

“Uh, I think it’s self-assembly.”

“Self-assembly. You mean I have to…assemble it myself?”

“…Is that a trick question?”

David shakes his head. “Aren’t you going to do it?”

“Hey, I’m just the delivery guy, and I’ve got other stuff to deliver so I should be going now.”

Stan makes his escape, leaving David with a smaller than expected, but still deceptively heavy, box.

Patrick is definitely the handyman out of the two of them. He’s always fixing things at the store, always has a tool David’s never even heard of ready at a moment’s notice. These drawers, however, are here because of David and by that logic, David should probably be the one to build it. Except, David’s never built anything in his life. Even the den he and his friends made back when David was a child was made without him lifting a single finger, instead he utilised his creativity and directed. Manual labour was just something David wasn’t good at. He didn’t have the required skills or gifts.

And yet, David was already unboxing it. 

David had never played with Lego when he was younger, his mother deemed the building blocks ‘offensively coloured, poor men’s choking hazards’, but he imagines the instructions to build things would look similar to these. A useless set of he images with little to no writing yet claim to offer ‘clear instructions that anyone can follow’. They’re not even in colour. 

David takes a deep breath. He already just wants to leave and maybe go see Stevie…wait, Stevie could help, couldn’t she? She has that rustic air about her that suggests she might be good at this sort of thing.

 **Are you busy?** David texts her, tapping his foot impatiently as he waits for her to respond.

**_Oh no, it’s not like I have a job_ **

**_Oh wait_ **

**Can’t you spare any time????**

**It’s an emergency**

**_Dead body emergency?_ **

**_Or David emergency_ **

That’s it.

“I really don’t see how those two things are mutually exclusive,” David whines into the phone.

“What’s the problem then?”

“I need to build a chest of drawers and these instructions are useless. It’s like they were drawn by a child Stevie, an illiterate _child_.”

“Huh, that does like a really big emergency that would warrant me ditching my job,” Stevie says, deadpan.

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not, are you coming over?”

“Look, David, I’d love nothing more than to help you build a chest of drawers but your dad’s away at some meeting and I cannot, in good conscience, leave the motel in the hands of Roland.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why can’t you wait till Patrick gets home? He looks like a guy who’d know how to build a chest of drawers and even better, he lives with you!”

“That’s the _point,_ Stevie, I don’t _want_ Patrick’s help. I want to do this for him, so he doesn’t have to.”

“You mean you want me to do it for you, to do it for Patrick.”

“You know what Stevie, I don’t need this kind of attitude, I’ll just do it myself.”

“Good luck, try not to get a splinter.” David can hear the grin in Stevie’s voice.

“Splinters can lead to infection which can lead to _death_ so I thank you for your words of encouragement. Bye.”

David hangs up, then turns back to the mess of wood and nails and other things David doesn’t even know the name of. It looks like he’s on his own, but that’s fine. He can do this, and he can do it without getting a splinter, or any other life-changing injury.

* * *

It takes David almost the whole day to build the drawers, partly because he took regular mental health breaks to keep his sanity, and partly because some imbecile thought the smartest way to provide instructions was to label objects a letter of the alphabet and assume that was enough. Considering David’s issues with said instructions, he’s actually quite pleased with what he’s accomplished. It looks like a chest of drawers, and it functions like one since David was able to put in a few pieces of clothing as a test, and if there’s a few pieces he couldn’t find a place for and one of the draws is a little wobbly…that’s probably standard for something of that price, isn’t it?

There may also be a chip in the doorframe, because it hadn’t occurred to David until he’d built it that it actually needed to be in the bedroom and so he had to move it. While not too heavy, it is relatively big – hence, the accidental catch on the doorframe. It’s barely noticeable though, as long as David doesn’t draw attention to it.

“David, I’m home!”

“Hey hon, how was your day?” David replies, leaning against the doorframe in a completely natural position. 

“Busy, but good. Matilda came in again with little Archie, he’s adorable.”

“…Is Archie a dog or a baby?”

“A baby, David,” Patrick laughs. “Hey, did the drawers not arrive?”

“Oh, they did. Come see.”

Visibly confused, Patrick enters the bedroom and his eyes widen when he sees the chest of drawers standing proudly. 

“David, did you build this yourself?”

“No, I had the help I no longer have do it,” David says sarcastically. “ _Yes_ , I did.”

“You didn’t have to, we could have done it together,” Patrick says, wrapping his arm around David’s waist as they both look at David’s creation.

“You’re busy enough, and I know it’s a shock, but I’m not inept at _everything_.”

“I never said that, and I know. You have many, many talents, one of which is your ability to keep surprising me.”

Patrick presses a kiss against David’s cheek, which turns into a kiss against the lips, which turns into more that leaves David feeling high on pride and love. 

* * *

Three days later, one draw ends up getting completely stuck and David and Patrick have to go garbage digging to find the missing, apparently very important pieces, David had thrown out. 

* * *

Here’s the thing. David, when he wants to, makes a great sous chef. He’s good at following simple instructions, and it means he doesn’t have to juggle things like timings and quantities. In fact, he and Patrick have quite the routine going. Together, they’ll discuss what they want to eat and when Patrick finally agrees that David’s choice is the best, they’ll start cooking. Patrick will give David ingredients to prepare and when Patrick needs them, David will helpfully hand them over. He likes it when Patrick is busy at the stove, because it means David gets to wrap his arms around Patrick’s chest, place his chin on his fiancé’s shoulder, and smell both Patrick’s earthy aftershave _and_ the delicious meal he’s preparing. It’s a routine that’s served them well so far, far better than his attempt to cook with his mother did, but Alexis’ words ring in his ears as he stands in the kitchen alone, with Patrick due to get home from the store in just over an hour, expecting a take-away but hopefully not getting one. 

Surely, after years of cooking with Patrick, he should have picked up enough to be able to cook solo for once? People cook for themselves all the time, how hard can it be?

David’s instinct is to go for something easy, like something that just needs time to stew, but one, that would only have worked if he’d planned this earlier and two, they only had ingredients for one of their favourite, more elaborate dishes – herb crusted lamb rack with the creamiest, most indulgent mashed potatoes.

David had left Patrick’s food list at home, okay?

By this point, Patrick rarely needs a recipe for anything but David…his memory isn’t so good and so he pulls up a similar looking recipe that should hopefully make something close to what they usually have and gets started.

The first step is easy enough, and David pre-heats the oven, realising with the next step that he may not have left himself with a lot of time at all. Who leaves their lamb out of the fridge an hour before cooking? It sounds highly unhygienic.

More dubious about the recipe than he had been previously, David follows the third step, his annoyance increasing when he sees the phrase ‘a splash of milk’. He’s sure Patrick would know what that meant but David, he likes _clear_ instructions. Anything can be a splash if it’s a liquid dropped from a high enough distance. Frowning, David puts in what he thinks a ‘splash’ should be and then mixes in the rest of the wet ingredients.

After that, it’s the dry ingredients which _thankfully_ have sensible measurements and he begins the process of dipping the still cool lamb racks into flour, then egg, and then the breadcrumb mixture. David feels confident in this step, sure he has seen Patrick do this before, and is reminded why this is Patrick’s job when a glob of the mixture falls dangerously close to his shoes.

“Ew!” David cries, jumping back in time, and only just managing to not get the lamb on his jumper.

After that close call, David removes his jumper, uncomfortable wearing just a vest, but more comfortable knowing his clothes are safe from what is turning out to be a much messier job than David anticipated. Taking a deep breath, he carries on and soon has six lab racks all ready to be cooked. David gets some oil in the pan heated along with a bit more butter than the recipe recommends. This is a stressful situation, after all, and David deserves to treat himself (and Patrick). 

The oil spitting more than expected, David stands back and prods the meat with the tongs until the recipe says it should be ready to be put into the oven. It’s only after they’ve gone in, left to cook for the sixteen minutes that should leave them with perfect medium rare lamb racks, that David spies the potatoes still sitting on the counter.

Shit.

“Why the fuck didn’t this mention the fucking mash!” David cries because this specifically said it was a recipe for lamb racks and mashed potatoes and yet it didn’t tell him to prepare the mash at all! Normally, peeling the potatoes is David’s job and now he thinks about it, Patrick is normally prepping the meat in the meantime. This is why they have a system and why David never should have tried to go solo! 

This is all Alexis’ fault. 

Even with all his practice, David manages to cut himself 3 times ( _three_ ) with the peeler before he’s done and even then they’re going to have less mash than normal because David got blood on some of them which is _disgusting_ and as he drops them into the almost boiling pot of water he realises he has 20 minutes left to finish off what is now more likely a 30 minute job. And that’s if he’s been generous. 

Sticking the heat on the highest setting for the potatoes, David busies himself getting the table ready, finding the table cloth David would like to use more often to add a level of class and sophistication, but Patrick reasons should use only for special occasions, and searches for the perfect bottle of wine to pair with their dinner. For all David would like to say they house a small winery, in reality, they just have a cupboard filled with a few bottles but of course, the one David wants is right at the back. 

Then a few things happen at once.

David hears the open, which startles him enough to whack his hand in the wine bottle. It’s not enough to tip it, however, he’d managed to hit the bottle with his cut, which makes him yelp with pain and snatch his hand back. It is that action which knocks the closest bottle to him out of the cupboard. David is too stunned to do anything but watch it fall and smash into the ground. In the background, he can hear hissing, as water from the pot has likely overflown onto the stove. A single drop of blood drips onto the ground.

“Uh, David?”

It takes all of David’s willpower to turn around and even then, he only manages it because he has his eyes screwed shut, almost as tight as his fists. There’s the sound of footsteps, of the gas being turned off and…oh, the oven. David had forgotten about that too. He’s not sure they should open that just yet, he doesn’t really want to have to go outside and face even more people because of the fire alarm going off.

“Hey,” a soft voice says, so soft that it feels like it’s ripping David’s heart apart with its softness. “Let me see your hand.”

Still keeping his eyes shut, David reluctantly offers his bleeding hand out and lets Patrick gently open it so he can see the damage David has inflicted upon himself.

“Stay here, let me grab the first aid kit.” Patrick murmurs, before he presses a kiss to David’s head and sits him down, which should reassure him that this hasn’t all ruined his chances of actually getting to the stage of marrying Patrick before their demise but instead, he just ends up focusing on the cuts, which really do sting and oh god, what if they get infected and have to be _amputated_ , David’s hands are one of his best features-

“Ow!”

“Sorry, sorry, I thought it would be better if I surprised you,” Patrick apologises as he continues to make David’s cuts burn with what is most likely some disinfectant which- okay, maybe they won’t need to be amputated, thanks to Patrick. 

“That’s for ripping off a band-aid,” David replies tersely, trying to keep his hand still for Patrick and not make this harder than it already is.

“Ah, of course, my mistake.”

David doesn’t offer anything up after that, and so Patrick continues to work in silence until he puts the final bandage on. David hears the scrape of the chair being moved closer. 

“David, love, are you going to open your eyes?”

“I don’t think I want to,” David rasps. He doesn’t want to see the utter disaster he’s made. He can smell the wine that fell onto the floor, along with faint notes of burning that tease him of what’s to come when they open the oven. His stomach is gnawing at itself, unsatisfied because he’s made an inedible dinner and if he opens his eyes and confirms everything, what’s to stop Patrick from really taking it in himself and realising what a mistake it was allowing David to live with him permanently when he’s just destroyed his whole kitchen?

“It’s up to you,” Patrick relents. “But, if you think I’m angry, or anything, I’m not. Confused, yes. Concerned, right now, very. And hey, you know how much I love your eyes. Lyrics could be made about them. They’re like smooth caramel dripping out of a milk dud, they’re like a gooey molten chocolate cake that’s just been cut open, they’re like-”

“Oh my god, _stop_. I’m going to eat you if you carry that on.”

“There we go.”

It’s only then that David realises his eyes are open, and Patrick is staring at him with a smile on his face which is morphing from teasing into soft. David tries to keep his focus on his fiancé but seeing the damage is unavoidable and with guilt warring with the hunger in his stomach, he says, “Please don’t break up with me.”

What he’d actually meant to say was ‘I’m sorry’ but it seemed his anxiety was done with being repressed.

“David…why would I break up with you?”

“Because…because I have too many clothes, I can’t make you a cup of tea, I sing Mariah too loudly, I can’t build some stupid chest of drawers, I can’t clean the bathroom, I can’t make you a fucking dinner and-”

A finger pressed against his lips shuts David up. 

He prefers kisses.

“David, stop. What’s brought this on?”

David’s lips clamp together, as he thinks about how to phrase the answer in the least embarrassing way possible. “We live together and, as two people who live together, I thought I ought to…do more, for you, because that’s what couples who live together do. But it turns out I’m just a mess at it and I…I understand if you don’t want to marry me.”

Patrick doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and David can feel his heart beat so hard against his chest he worries it might rip out of him.

“You, David Rose, are the most, ridiculous, endearing, wonderful man I know and if anything, this just makes me want to marry you more.”

“…What?”

Patrick takes both of David’s hands in his own, mindful of his cuts. “David, before we made it official, save maybe a day or two a week, we were basically living together anyway. I knew what I was getting into having you move in with me. I knew I was getting late night Mariah shower concerts, that I was going to live with someone who doesn’t know the difference between a wrench and a rachet. I knew that I was going to live with a man who underneath layers, and layers, of clothes, had a heart bigger than he thinks, who always manages to put a smile on my face, who will go to baseball games with me even though I know he hates them. I’m living with a man who has faults, but he’s still the same man I can’t imagine not spending my life with. If you want to help out a bit more, go for it, but I don’t want it hurting, or burdening you in the process. That’s the last thing I want David.”

“Oh,” David sniffs, trying, and miserably failing, not to start crying. “You…you should have saved that for our vows.”

“I guess I’m just going to have to come up with something even cornier for that,” Patrick replies, grinning. 

“Please, don’t, I don’t want to cry on our wedding day, I look awful.”

“You are going to cry David, and so am I, and we’re both going to be happy messes,” Patrick promises and David lets out a wet laugh before he’s brought into a hug that allows him to hide his red face into Patrick’s shoulder.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” David murmurs.

“Same here, love, same here.”

They stay hugging for a good few minutes, until David’s able to reign in his tears, and then they part, David attempting to fan the streaks that remain away.

“Ugh, this is why I hate crying. And the smell of wine on the floor and not in a nice, clean glass is making me nauseous.”

“Just this once, let me take care of something,” Patrick says and before David can open his mouth to protest that this was the opposite of what he intended, he adds, “In the meantime, if you want, you can order us a take-away.”

“The really greasy and good kind?”

“Yeah, I think that’s what we both need now,” Patrick says. “Maybe even add a tub of ice cream on there…I might have eaten the last of the one we had in the freezer.”

“You mean _my_ double chocolate mint ice cream?” David narrows his puffy eyes at Patrick who holds up his hands in defence.

“Hey, I have my faults too.”

“You are so, so lucky I love you Patrick Brewer.”

An almost dreamy expression on his face, Patrick replies, “Yeah, I know.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I did use a recipe for this, and this recipe also forgot to mention the potatoes. 
> 
> I really hope you liked this, it’s my first time writing for the fandom but I just couldn’t not after binging all 5 seasons in like 2 weeks! Let me know your thoughts and if you have any other ideas :)


End file.
